


there will come a soldier

by cress_ent



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Character foils, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap-centric (Video Blogging RPF), and then devolved into a sapnap study, as in, dream is a little bitch, either would be nice, or affection, sapnap just wants some friends, this started as sapnap and punz as character foils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cress_ent/pseuds/cress_ent
Summary: he’s drowning, he thinks, in a sea he didn’t notice himself sinking down into.-a series of interactions centered around a soldier losing his cause.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, if you are here for el rapids polycule content i am so sorry, it's only alluded to - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 193





	there will come a soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radmadlads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radmadlads/gifts).



> // for maddie! merry crimus. thank u for spiralling hard enough with me about sapnap that we predicted his arc a full two days before it happened. i think about that so often. shoutout to the sophsmp for letting us become better friends!!! i care you very much and i hope this is an adequate secret santa/gift exchange present.
> 
> //obligatory "this is about the characters they play on the dream smp and not the real people" disclaimer
> 
> //[dream voice] According to AO3 Statistics, only a small percentage of my readers actually leave kudos and comments. So if you end up liking this fic, please consider leaving a kudos or comment - it's free, and you can always remove it later if you change your mind. Enjoy the fic.

“do you ever get tired of fighting?”

“no.” the harsh  _ scrape, scrape _ of metal against stone stops, punz pausing in the familiar motions to regard sapnap. “do you?”

sapnap doesn’t (can’t) (won’t) give an answer. punz stares at him for a bit, piercing blue eyes he’s always found a little unsettling. there’s a moment where sapnap feels like punz is going to say something, question him further, demand an answer that sapnap doesn’t know if he can give, but punz looks down at his axe again, resuming the methodical sharpening of the enchanted blade he wields. 

the silence that follows is a bit…  _ too _ quiet. 

“it wouldn’t be good if i got tired of it, though,” punz says, breaking the silence, and whatever tension sapnap had felt before is instantly lessened. “it  _ is _ kinda my job.”

his job, huh. 

his  _ job _ . 

(sapnap has never been compensated for a single ounce of the work he’s done for dream.)

“yeah,” he laughs, it’s equal parts nervous and bitter, “probably wouldn’t do well to be a mercenary that hates fighting, huh?” 

“speaking of, you just— you just fight with him because you two are friends, right? no compensation, no nothing, just loyalty?”

friends. 

loyalty.

“y-yeah.” 

punz puts down the sharpening stone, giving sapnap a wry smile. “good on you — i definitely couldn’t do that. it’s easier, for me, to just — get paid. no real ties to anyone or anything.” 

_ friends _ .

sapnap laughs again. punz definitely sees through it. “i wish i could do that — you’re right, it  _ would _ be easier.” his gaze drops to the axe at his side. he thinks about— (his fish, mars) (the scars that riddle his body) (how the only times dream smiles at him, or praises him, or gives him any attention, is when he does well in a fight) “i can’t help it, though. getting so attached.”

across from him, punz swings his axe around a few times, hefting the newly-sharpened blade in his hands. his eyes catch sapnap’s again, and he hates it, how punz seems to understand him better than he understands himself, sometimes. “be careful.”

“careful?”

“attachment, affection — whatever you want to call it,” a truth shared between two soldiers, sapnap knows punz only means the best, “make sure it doesn’t get you hurt.”

sapnap gives punz a smile, an easy laugh, but he knows they’re both fake. “i will.”

+

“to-tommy, i actually have a question,” sapnap doesn’t want to ask this of him, but who else would know? who else could he ask? not george, not punz, surely not dream, “yesterday, when dream was uh, getting real mad at you, he said that he— he said that he didn't care about anything, but— i'm sure that he cares about me, right? you think?”

he doesn’t really know why he’s asking, if he’s being honest, when he already knows the answer. 

(to confirm his own worst fears, maybe. to have someone else tell him that it’s all true.)

“right, tommy? surely he does, right?”

tommy hesitates a moment too long before answering. “he cares about george, if that makes you feel better.”

“well, yeah, but — surely he cares about me, right? ‘cause we’re friends. best friends.” sapnap knows it sounds pitiful, desperate, but he can’t stop himself from asking. making sure. he needs to exhaust every possible outcome, see if maybe it was just a slip of the tongue, or— or a miscommunication, he doesn’t— (he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself when there’s no way out of what’s staring him in the face.) “he definitely cares about me, right?”

the pity and apprehension on tommy’s face is palpable. tommy is a lot of things, but a good liar is not one of them. “... yes.”

and it’s a little insulting, that tommy doesn’t think he can handle the truth. (sapnap doesn’t know if he can, but he’s full of pride, so. he’ll say he can, and deal with whatever fallout comes of his own reckless decisions, like he always does.) “you don’t have to— you can give it to me straight, i’m tough.”

tommy hesitates. “he doesn’t. care about you.”

“oh.”

it hurts more than sapnap expected, to hear it laid out so clearly. to have someone on the outside confirm what he knew to be true. 

there was a day, when he and george and dream were out searching for tridents, sailing around the oceans surrounding the lands they’ve settled and diving into the depths. he swam down, deep into the inky, murky depths of the sea below them, and it all felt so peaceful down there — the dark water, rays of sunlight piercing past the thick curtain of the sea to cast rippling shadows against the sandy floor. but that crushing pressure, that anxiety rising in his chest as his breath began to run out and his limbs began to weaken with fear that he’d gone too far, wouldn’t make it back up — that’s what this reminds sapnap of. 

he’s drowning, he thinks, in a sea he didn’t notice himself sinking down into.

“... oh.”

tommy looks at him, and his expression is full of pity, and sapnap can’t even bring himself to be mad about it, about his wounded pride. 

sapnap laughs, nervously, bitterly, (he isn’t sure what else to do), “but that’s okay, right? that’s fine.”

“it’s sad,” tommy says, and part of sapnap appreciates his brutal honesty. (god knows he could never get any from dream.) 

“yeah,” sapnap says, looking out across the walkway he’s stood on towards the rest of l’manberg, towards the walls that encase the newly-rebuilt country. “but— that’s fine, fine by me, y’know?” 

(it isn’t fine.)

(maybe if he says it enough times, with enough conviction, it’ll become true.)

(sapnap can only hope.)

“i’m sorry, sapnap.” it feels genuine. it  _ is _ genuine. (maybe that’s the biggest difference, between tommy and dream. it’s one sapnap can’t stop thinking about, one that keeps him up at night wondering if things were different, if he would still be at dream’s side.)

sapnap gives him a smile, and it feels equal parts honest and bittersweet. “i mean. i’m friends with tommyinnit now, so it’s okay.” he’s half-joking, but it does feel nice. to be able to call someone his friend and know that at the very least, the feeling is mutual.

“yeah! it’s alright, sapnap, i’ll—” and he lets out a laugh himself, “well, i probably won’t be a shoulder to cry on, but — i’ll be around.” 

he’ll be around.

(that’s more than dream’s ever promised him.)

+

“he doesn’t care about us.” 

“he never has, sapnap.” george looks more tired than sapnap’s ever seen him before. “i’ll be honest, i’ve known for — a while. i just ignored it, because it was easier to pretend he still did than figure out to do knowing he doesn’t.” 

george looks out, at the top of the mountain they’ve decided to settle on with quackity and karl, glasses resting on the top of his head. (two things sapnap doesn’t see nearly as often as he should, for how close he is— was— with these people: george’s eyes, one brilliant blue and the other sparkling amber; and dream’s face, covered in freckles with emerald eyes.) “it was fun, sometimes. to play his game. humour him.”

“so you knew. this whole time, you knew?” 

“...yeah.” 

his voice breaks, and sapnap feels so fucking pathetic. (punz was right.) (he’d never tell him that, but punz was right.) “why didn’t you tell me?”

“would it have hurt any less?”

“no, but—”

“but  _ what _ , sapnap? but maybe he’d have changed? but maybe we wouldn't have gotten used?” george doesn’t shout often, but he’s shouting now, and sapnap can feel every ounce of repressed anger in his words. “but maybe he can be a good person, he can fucking redeem himself when every single  _ fucking _ thing he’s done here has been for himself?” 

“i thought—” sapnap sighs. “i don’t know. i thought we were friends, maybe.”

george rolls his eyes. scoffs. “dream doesn’t have  _ friends _ . dream just has allies.”

“yeah. i see that, now.” sees it, but it’s already too late for it to matter. too late for it to mean anything but him getting hurt. was it naive of him? to assume the best? to hope, to let himself believe that it was genuine? “god, i just—” there’s pressure building up in sapnap’s chest that he doesn’t know how to get rid of, “i feel so fucking  _ stupid _ . so— so  _ used _ .”

a bitter laugh escapes george. “don’t we all.”

+

“you’re sure?” 

sapnap isn’t one for formalities. when george was being formally coronated, right before the war for manberg, sapnap had been aching the whole time to interrupt the proceedings, talk over dream with his fancy speeches and george with his stupid accent. even when he was getting knighted, all he could think about was how stuffy and formal and stupid this all was. 

but here he is now, kneeling in front of quackity the same way he was for george, offering the hilt of his own blade. “never been more sure.” 

quackity looks— surprised, confused, concerned. “look, sapnap, i know i’m your fiance and all but when we started this we promised that it wouldn’t affect our political stances, and i don’t know if i’m okay with you choosing me over dream—” 

“there’s nothing to  _ choose _ , quackity.” his throat burns, words thick in his mouth. “what do i get from loyalty to  _ him _ ? when he doesn’t care? when he never has?” 

“oh,  _ sapnap _ —” 

sapnap fixes his eyes stubbornly on the ground beneath them, burning with tears. “at least i know you love me. you care.” 

“and karl—” 

“we both know karl doesn’t care about politics. he’s— a little like me, in that regard. we just care about friends, and loyalty, and trust.” sapnap looks up at him — it always feels so vulnerable, to meet someone’s eyes. he can see — trepidation, fear, passion, hope. “we just— follow our hearts. wherever that may take us.”  _ even if we get hurt. _

quackity lets out a heavy breath. picks up the sword from where sapnap had let it clatter to the ground. he isn’t a warrior — it looks so strange and unfamiliar in his hands. wrong, even. but he holds it like it carries the weight of the world. he hesitates — “and you’re  _ sure _ .”

“c’mon, you’re gonna make me repeat myself?” sapnap gives quackity a wry smile, joy filling him slowly as quackity returns it with a soft grin of his own. the tension in the air eases a little. (sapnap can only hope the weight on quackity’s shoulders has, too.) “i’m sure.”

the flat of the blade touches first his right shoulder, then his left. it’s not nearly as formal or celebratory as when he was sworn in as george’s knight — hell, the moon is still high in the sky, and they’re dappled in silver, and he’s kneeling on soft grass instead of hard stone, and quackity holds a sword with so much difficulty and strangeness, and the nation he’s swearing himself to is barely more than a list of hopes and dreams and wishes, but — it feels more right, somehow. 

(maybe it’s just because the feeling of betrayal and loss is still so bitter and thick on sapnap’s tongue. because he can be sure, at least, with quackity, that his loyalty and devotion isn’t misguided.)

(how did he ever let himself be led down this path.)

quackity lets out a shaky breath, and sapnap stands, taking the hilt of the sword from his trembling hands and sheathing it at his hip. 

“thank you.” 

quackity looks surprised. sapnap didn’t expect it, either, but. it makes sense. “i should be thanking you, sapnap.” 

“no— no.” he takes the hand that gripped the hilt of his sword so nervously, presses a soft kiss against quackity’s knuckles. “thank you. this— meant. a lot more than i can say.” 

it’s a bittersweet ceremony. a bittersweet dedication. but sapnap thinks he likes the taste of this new devotion more than the ashy, sour taste in his mouth that coated his tongue when he had to hear dream treat him as nothing more than a guard. when he drove george to the point of asking, outright, for dream to just say he hates him. when the community house that they built together felt like nothing more than a monument to false memories. 

(he guesses it’s not really comparable, the love of a friend versus the dedication of a lover, but. if sapnap never had the former in the first place, what does it matter if he focuses on the latter?)

“and— sapnap?” 

“yeah?”

quackity gives him a smile. “you might be a knight of sorts now, but — you’ve never been  _ just  _ a soldier. remember that, yeah?”

his heart gives a soft flutter, a gentle ache. “yeah. i will.”


End file.
